Life as a Whitebeard Pirate
by Mai Kusakabe
Summary: The Whitebeard Pirates may be the strongest crew in the world, but they are a crew all the same, just not like most pirates out there: they are a family. A family with many stories to tell that the world would have trouble associating the so called strongest crew in the world with.
1. Moniker

**Edit:** As I am obsessed with the Whitebeard Pirates and can't stop having ideas for short scenes involving them, I've decided to turn this into a one-shot and drabble collection, and from now on I'll post all the short things I write about the crew in here.

I got this idea out of nowhere and had to write it. I hope you like it, and thanks to Aerle for betaing it :)

* * *

**Moniker**

Edward Newgate swung the pole, the remaining part of his bisento that had broke during the previous battle, around, sending a group of unfortunate marines flying straight into the ocean.

The men around him hesitated visibly, some of them going as far as to take a step back, and clung to their weapons, though most of them had already run out of bullets.

He heard screams further down the deck and out of the corner of his eye saw the telltale blue flames of the brat's ability.

Marco was a teenage brat that had been a cabin boy on an enemy pirate ship until a week ago, when both that ship and the one Newgate was part of the crew had fought with what could only be deemed tragic consequences. The two ships had received substantial damage, enough to make them sink. The two devil fruit users had escaped on a boat. Or, more accurately, Newgate had escaped on a boat, having been unable to find any living crewmember on his way out of the sinking ship, and a blue bird had landed on board, turning into the brat. The two had recognized the other wasn't part of his crew but, after exchanging some insults and threats, had decided to cooperate. Newgate had a boat and Marco had rescued a very nice looking crate of food, so it seemed only logical to stay together.

They had floated aimlessly, unable to find any islands in the vast Grand Line with no log pose to guide them, until an hour ago when the brat came back from one of his flights announcing he had spotted a ship. A marine ship.

The marines hadn't even thought they were a threat to them, and the two pirates hadn't planned to attack them, just to ask for help, taking advantage of the fact that neither of them were wanted criminals. Then someone on board, probably the now dead commodore that had commanded the ship, had decided they looked like criminals and ordered to sink them.

Newgate had been impressed and very surprised when the brat took all the cannonballs head on without getting even a scratch and then, when Marco had flown to the ship, the marines had fired almost all their ammunition trying to take him down. Once the ocean trembled below them, there had been terrified screams.

"Oi, Pops! I got some stuff!" Came Marco's yell right before he landed next to him. 'Pops' was how the brat had taken to calling him around the time Newgate started to call him 'son'. Certainly, this wasn't what he had had in mind when he said his dream was to have a family, but Newgate realized Marco was a son he liked to have.

"Log pose?" Marco nodded. "Food?"

"Yeah, and some maps, a den den mushi, and all that. We're ok to go."

Newgate looked around, at the marines that hadn't really tried to attack during the short conversation and the destroyed deck due to the few small earthquakes he had decided to summon.

"What about them?"

Marco chuckled and smirked at him.

"They won't be able to follow, I broke their rudder, but if you want to kill them…"

There were yelps at Marco's suggestion, and more men scrambled to get away from them. Newgate laughed.

"Nah, let's go."

* * *

Edward Newgate ran his hand over his chin, satisfied at the soft feeling of skin under his fingers. It had been really annoying, during their days adrift, to not even have a pocket knife. Luckily now they were well supplied of anything they might need until their first stop and, thanks to Marco's surprisingly good navigation skills, they were also well in their way to the next island.

A chuckle drew his attention to his son and only other occupant of their small boat, and he found the boy looking straight at him, newspaper in hand.

"What?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow at Marco, who chuckled again.

"You might want to grow the beard again, Pops." And he raised a sheet of paper that turned out to be one of the wanted posters that came with the newspaper.

Edward Newgate, _Whitebeard_, burst out laughing.

"The hell I'm growing that again." He stated, laughed some more, and then added: "Though I wouldn't mind a moustache."


	2. Day Off

I wrote this _the same day_ than Moniker, and that's when I decided I would end up with my profile full of drabbles if I posted them separately. I have a lot of those but the new ones will be contained here :)

Thanks to Aerle for betaing :)

* * *

**Day Off**

Being First Division Commander and first mate of the Whitebeard Pirates meant a lot of responsibilities. Being First Division Commander, first mate and the user of a devil fruit that made it impossible for him to get drunk meant _a lot_ of responsibilities. Since that particular side effect of his ability had been discovered, Marco had been pronounced the babysitter of drunks, especially when they were on an island, and his main mission was to make sure no one did something _too_ stupid while inebriated.

During his many years occupying the position, Marco had witnessed the most ridiculous of occurrences, ranging from the time a group of idiots had raided a local marine base to take photos of themselves naked and send them to marine headquarters, to the time he had been forced to stop a mass wedding that over a hundred men of the crew had decided to have amongst themselves. Everybody marrying everybody, of course.

Today, however, after three days of nonstop partying in the island they were now at, Marco had decided he really needed a break from his exhausting job.

He just hoped Thatch and the dozen other men with him wouldn't later regret their brand new tattoos of the marines' symbol on their asses.


	3. A Proud Older Brother

Here I am with another short scene. It's sooner than I expected to post it, but inspiration for my other stories refuses to come, and I wanted to update somethins, so here we are. Beta-read by Aerle :)

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**A Proud Older Brother**

Thatch frowned. He understood being a proud older brother, he had been in that position plenty of times. He understood being proud of a brother's wanted poster, he had been in that position plenty of times as well. But there was a limit to what being a proud brother could justify.

Having your brother's first wanted poster enlarged around a hundred times, printed on a lot of smaller papers because there was no way to get that on a single one, and covering half the deck of the Moby Dick with it was clearly going overboard. Just as Ace had gone when Marco had seen his handiwork. The rest of the crew had been too overcome by a mix of horrified shock and awe at seeing the rookie's contagious grin taking over a good portion of deck to even glare at the proud brat.

At least it would be Ace's job to clean up the mess. There had been an unanimous refusal to strip even one of the papers off.

Now they only had to wait for Namur to fish the brat out of the water and hope Marco wouldn't kick him in again, as he had done a second time when Ace had refused to strip his little brother's oversized wanted poster off the deck.

Ace was too stubborn for his own good.

* * *

I'd wanted to try writing Ace being proud of Luffy for some time now. I'd really appreciate any feedback :)


	4. Doctor's Orders

**Doctor's Orders**

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" That yell, followed by various very ominous sounding crashes was heard throughout the entirety of the Moby Dick.

Marco the Phoenix bolted down from his seat on one of the ship's railings and rushed inside, passing on his way groups and single individuals that were most definitely fleeing in the opposite direction. Doctors, nurses and pirates that had been recovering at the infirmary, some of them that shouldn't be running seeing what body parts they had bandaged, all ran to the door Marco had just passed as if their lives depended on it. And, truth be told, they might.

Marco entered through the infirmary door and skidded to a halt in the middle of it, glancing around for a moment to take in the upturned beds and carts, the couple of ripped curtains and the cowering doctor in one corner faced by an irate Ace two feet away.

"Take that back." The young pirate bit out through gritted teeth. The doctor pressed himself harder against the wall, as if he was trying to merge with it.

"B-But I can't! You really have-"

"The hell I do!"

Marco lunged forward and wound his arms around Ace, restraining him before he could jump at the trembling man.

"Let go, you asshole!" The boy yelled, setting himself on fire in an attempt to break free. Marco's flames responded, covering the blazing red fire with their own blue, and the blond had to cover his legs on haki so the kicks Ace aimed there wouldn't make him flinch before he could heal and give the brat a chance to escape.

"Get some handcuffs!" He ordered the terrified doctor, who scurried to the drawer where they kept some kairoseki handcuffs in case of emergency.

"Let go of me, Marco! I'm gonna kill that bastard!"

"Put them on!" Marco ordered, but the doctor was frozen in place, cuffs loosely held in one hand, as he stared in terror at the irate Ace who was becoming harder to restrain without hitting him.

Luckily, at that moment Fossa came running through the door, brought here by the screams as Marco had and, quickly assessing the situation, took the handcuffs from the doctor and trapped one of the young man's wrists with them.

Ace sagged against Marco, the draining effect of the stone halting his struggles, and the first division commander took the chance to address the doctor.

"What happened?"

The man gulped visibly and took a step back. Marco tightened his hold around Ace, not needing to see his face to know he had his most murderous look on.

"W-With the injuries Ace received at the battle he has to allow his stomach to recover. He will have to be on a bland diet for two months."

Ace growled. Fossa raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Marco: it seemed they would have to start a new type of Ace-watching.

With some luck this would teach the brat not to run recklessly at opponents with pointy kairoseki weapons.

* * *

This story has been inspired by my current situation. I went to the dentist on Monday, she put this horrible wire right over my tongue connecting my molars from both sides of the mouth to move some teeth and now I can't swallow (can barely move my tongue and it hurts when I do), so I'm limited mostly to liquids.


	5. Secret Operations

It just got past midnight here and it's now May 20, which means it's my birthday :D (and I feel old now.) Last year I celebrated it by posting a lot of updates at the same time, and this year I've decided to do the same because I don't usually receive many birthday presents (and even less in person) and reviews make me happy, so I want them :D

Beta-read by Aerle :)

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**Secret Operations**

They say it is impossible to keep something secret on a ship, where so many people live together, but the truth is that, with adequate planning and help, it is possible to keep a secret. At least from a select group of people.

For years now, the nurses of the Moby Dick have insisted that Whitebeard can't drink booze, but all their attempts so far to prevent it have failed. First they tried to directly take it away from him, but getting the feared pirate to do something he doesn't want to is no easy feat, and in less than a day they realized they couldn't manage it that way.

Their next strategy involved having the cooperation of the rest of the crew to keep the captain away from any alcoholic drinks, but all the pirates sympathized with Whitebeard's predicament and refused to help. Not even Marco, their responsible first mate, agreed to assist them.

Their last strategy was to block any oc these drinks from reaching the captain, taking advantage of the fact that no one wanted to be in the nurses' bad side. It worked. For a week. After that Whitebeard began to acquire booze somehow, and it is this phenomenon that had to be kept secret at all costs.

Izo looked around the doorframe to see Thatch flirting with a group of giggling nurses and gave the signal. Marco, calm and slightly bored expression in place and a folder in hand, approached the rest of the nurses, sitting on a circle not far from the captain's chair -the man was drinking his last bottle of sake-, sat with them and began to ask about the supplies that had to be bought at the next island.

At Izo's next signal, Haruta darted out from another door and mere seconds later there was a huge bag next to the captain's chair that contained three gigantic bottles of sake.

They should last for some days.


	6. Embarrassing Moments

I've had this written for a while, and just decided to post it. We know how human pirates, especially men, act when they go to Fishman Island. But, I wonder, what do the Fishmen that are in one of those mostly human crews think of it? Here is my theory.

As always, beta-read by Aerle :)

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**Embarrassing Moments**

There is a thing about families that seems to be an universal rule, and not even the Whitebeard Pirates, being as strange a family as they are, escape from this rule: no matter how much someone loves their family, there are instances when they would rather be able to pretend not to know them, just to be saved the embarrassment of others knowing they are related to them.

For Namur, this was a common occurrence every time they visited Fishman Island. Some people, like Pops, Jozu or Izo, behaved themselves, but most of the crew acted like a bunch of perverted clowns high on some weird plant from the New World.

He didn't care if the Whitebeard Pirates, as the island's protectors, were well liked by the people, or that they behaved far more decently than a good part of the visitors passing through. Every time he saw one of his brothers drooling over a mermaid with that red-faced, panting dog expression, he wanted to hide under a seashell and not come out until they had to leave.

And, seriously, what was with all the nosebleeding?


	7. Comfort

Finally, I got the next update. It was just a matter of time, really, even if that's been over two months.

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**Comfort**

He barely fits in there.

Marco presses his back against the cold stone surface, yearning for a warmth that simply isn't there. If he opens his eyes, he can see the side of Ace's equally cold stone grave, and his mind can easily conjure how the boy would tease him for coming to Pops to cry like a little kid.

Marco isn't crying, though he feels like doing so.

He doesn't talk, because this time he doesn't need to get away from the crew for a while because they have exasperated him so much he wants to murder them all. This time he doesn't believe Pops would laugh in that characteristic way of his at Marco's furious ranting, because there is no silly situation to rant about.

Everything is crumbling down and Marco doesn't know what to do, but he doesn't speak because he knows there is no good or even more exasperating advice to be received, there is no bottle of sake to be offered to him in an attempt to calm or relax him. There isn't even one of those hugs he would always before have denied he needed.

Everything Marco has now to draw comfort from is a cold stone tomb he can sit against.

He feels like crying even more.

* * *

So, you might have noticed there's no humor genre anymore for this story. That doesn't mean there won't be more humor, just that I'm a sucker for Whitebeard Pirates angst and this was bound to happen.


	8. Things That Shouldn't Have Been

This sort of came out of nowhere at 1am when I was listening to a collection of the sad songs from the OP soundtrack.

Beta-read by Aerle :)

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**Things That Shouldn't Have Been**

The door closed with a barely audible click that resounded like thunder in the unnaturally still silence that filled every corner of the ship and his hand fell limply from the door handle.

The room was dark, they had closed the porthole and drawn the rarely used curtain over it. With the already setting sun, there was only a dim light that cast grey, long and gloomy shadows over the room. They didn't even begin to reflect the feelings now consuming Marco from the inside.

There, on the bed, lay Thatch, eyes closed and a peaceful expression on his face Marco had said many times before. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought the man was asleep, but he knew only too well the fatal would that lay below the sheet now covering the man up to his shoulders. That expression had always seemed strange to Marco, such a peaceful look didn't fit a man as lively and playful as Thatch. Now, however, it was downright mocking.

Marco advanced to the bed, each step heavier than the previous one as he made his legs take it. He would have let himself drop onto the mattress had he been alone, but the blond man forced himself to sit down as carefully as possible.

He stared at his feet for what could have been hours before finally raising his head and turning to look at Thatch. He really hated that peaceful expression. It just wasn't Thatch. At all.

"What happened?" He spoke, and irrationally hoped for an answer that couldn't come. "How did he get you? You're-you're one of the strongest, even if you didn't see it coming…" He trailed off, turned away from Thatch's unnervingly unresponsive face and instead buried his own in his hands. "Thatch, fuck…"

He fell silent, and would have heard the minutes tick by if they hadn't turned off the clock the fourth division commander had hated so much. Marco had bought it five years ago, and he would unfailingly set the alarm at an outrageous hour and hide it somewhere the man wouldn't think of whenever Thatch slacked in his duties. The only reason the other commander hadn't broken it was because the blond would consistently replace it and take the amount it had cost away from Thatch's money for the next island they visited.

"…What happened?" Marco repeated. "Things were going so well. We were happy, weren't we? For the last few years we've-" He cut himself off, because he couldn't think of those memories without the pain taking over. He couldn't break now, not when most of the crew was so close to doing so.

"Ace has left, you know? He says he's going to kill that bastard to avenge you." He swallowed. "Pops said we shouldn't follow him, that he has a bad feeling about all this. If it wasn't for that, I would be out there with Ace right now, but… I don't know, I have a bad feeling, too."

Marco tried to imagine Thatch mocking him for saying something so vague, for letting such an unidentifiable feeling of which he couldn't track back the origin have so much power over him, but a heavy knot settled in his throat at the very effort of trying to remember Thatch's laughter.

And he couldn't remember it.

He choked.

"…Why didn't any of us see this coming?"

An unbidden tear slid down his cheek.

* * *

… Yes, I had to write it. The muse has decided it's time for angst after the humor of the first few chapters. This is the first time I write something focused solely on Thatch's death. When the idea came, it was originally going to be MarcoThatch, but the final result could be interpreted both ways, so I added it here instead of the separate story I was going to post.

Remember there is this little rumor saying reviews help to fight off writer's block, and they are loved :D


	9. Legacy

I'm kind of depressed that the last update only got one review :( I'm not going to threaten with no updates or anything like that, but it's frustrating…

Beta-read by Aerle

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**Legacy**

Everybody had left the room. In silent agreement, as no one had uttered a single word since they had laid the captain's body on the massive bed, all the people present had known Marco needed this moment. They, the commanders, needed to be strong for the crew, but of all of them there was no doubt Marco was the one who had to be the strongest. Because, the moment their captain had given his final order, the responsibility to take care of them all had fallen on the man.

They all knew, no one was stupid enough to even doubt it, that Marco was more than willing to take on the responsibility, but he needed to mourn, too. And that was why they had made the silent decision to leave him alone now, to do this himself and grieve, because once he left the room he would have to take charge of their wrecked family.

In what now seemed another life, Thatch used to say Marco was the older brother in their big family, and it was the older brother's duty to take on the father's place when the father was no longer there.

Marco stood there, unmoving, for long minutes that could have easily been an eternity each, looking unseeingly at the great man that was no more, the greatest man in the world. The only man he had ever been willing to follow. His father.

Deep down, he had known this was a possibility. He had always known Edward Newgate was not a man who abandoned his own —that was, in fact, one of the many traits of the man that had attracted Marco to him. He had also known that the captain's health had deteriorated greatly over the years, that he could no longer take as much damage and make efforts as great as he had once been able to. He had also known that they were up against the greatest enemy, the most dangerous one, they had ever faced. And still, the idea that his captain, _his father_, could die, though understood by his brain, had never settled into his heart.

And now it had happened.

Silently, Marco walked to the huge basin his brothers had brought into the room, picked one of the towels piled next to it and dipped it into the water. He took a deep breath, turned to the huge body that no longer held that strong, protective aura he had so long ago come to cherish, and began to clean the blood and the grime of the battle away.

He didn't try to stop the tears that began to fall from his eyes once more, nor did he attempt to wipe them away. He just focused on his task. He didn't speak, because there were no words to express his gratitude, his grief; there was no way he could convey how much he would miss him or —and didn't it sound stupid— how much he wanted to chew the man out for being so stubborn and forbidding them —_him_— to help him.

What Marco did, however, was promise —because promises aren't to be taken lightly, they must be fulfilled— that he would do his best, everything that was in his power, to see their family through this, to help them stand up once more.

It didn't matter what the world would say, Whitebeard's legacy wasn't the legend of one of the greatest pirates in the whole world's history; the strongest man of the world's legacy weren't those last words, the confirmation that One Piece did exist; _Pops'_ legacy was his family, and Marco would spend even his last breath if it was necessary to make sure it would survive.

* * *

Sorry, 6Lisa9, I couldn't resist xD

I don't know if you remember, but when Whitebeard fought Blackbeard, he specifically ordered Marco not to intervene. That's what Marco means when he says the captain forbade them to help him.


	10. Health Issues

Today's been my first day of class, and I'm kind of tired now. But, all in all, it wasn't as bad as I expected and, as I'm in a good mood, I decided to update this :)

Beta-read by Aerle.

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**Health Issues**

There was no yells of surprise or worried reactions when a cursing Portgas D. Ace soared across the deck of the Moby Dick and went through two walls before the crashes stopped. There were, however, many complaints about the extra work it would require to repair the wall, and some of the lately growing suggestions to just leave the holes be until the brat stopped his murder attempts. There was a great debate around that topic, with those fervently supporting the idea —mainly the ones who had had to repair a wall at some point— and those opposing it, arguing it would be a great problem if the weather turned to winter.

"How far did he fly?" someone asked.

Haruta leaned forward to look through the hole.

"Three walls."

"Oh, fuck!" came a groan from farther down the deck. "I'd bet on four!"

"You guys are _still_ betting on that?" Izo asked. "I thought you'd tire after the hundredth attempt."

"We don't know if he's passed a hundred, no one kept count."

"I didn't think he'd last even ten, the stubborn brat."

There was a round of laughter, but Haruta didn't join in. Something didn't feel right about this.

"Hey, can any of you hear Ace cursing?"

Silence fell over the deck. Ace always cursed after a failed attempt. To be more precise, most of what he said were curses or insults, but he became most creative after failing to assassinate the captain. Now, however, silence greeted their ears.

"Oh, shit!"

There was a stampede as the pirates tried to pass through the hole, though only some of them managed it, the rest blocked each other's path. The captain stood from his chair and dragged his IV as close to the hole as he could, and it was obvious he was worried about having hit Ace too hard.

Haruta, taking advantage of the momentary distraction Pops' approach provided, pushed some crewmembers aside and slipped through the hole.

Izo was already there, kneeling next to Ace and with a hand frozen in mid-air, raised as if to touch the boy's face. The man had a perplexed expression on his face.

"How's he?" Haruta asked, skidding to a halt moments short of colliding with the two men.

"Asleep."

"What?"

"He's asleep."

Silence stretched between them, only broken by the sound of many feet running, and soon they were surrounded by a small horde of worried brothers.

"How's Ace?"

"He isn't hurt, right?"

"Kid's too tough to just die!"

"Get a doctor!"

"Calm down!" Izo yelled, standing up. He was scary when he used his commander voice —which he controlled much better than Haruta— and the noise began to die.

Heavy steps told Haruta Pops had arrived without any need to turn around.

"How's the boy, Izo?"

"He fell asleep."

And Haruta's reaction was mimicked by the dozens of people that was now present. Because, seriously, how could the brat just _fall asleep_ after being punched by the strongest man of the world —who didn't really hold back when he did that, the kid was strong enough to take it— through three walls?

This time it was Whitebeard's laughter what stopped the yelling that ensued.

"Should've expected that," the captain muttered before he turned around and went back to his chair.

Haruta didn't understand, and neither did many of the people around.

"Of course, 'D.'," muttered Izo. Apparently, he understood.

* * *

One of the little things I really want to know of One Piece is how the Whitebeard Pirates discovered about Ace's narcolepsy, so here's a possible theory.

Review, please~~


	11. Peaceful

It took me a little longer than expected to post it, but here's the next update :)

Beta-read by Aerle.

* * *

**Peaceful**

Now that the orders had been given no one had the so-called courage to attempt to continue fighting. The admirals had backed to the area where the scaffold had previously stood, and the rest of the marines were retreating as the pirates advanced into the battlefield, searching the hundreds of bodies littering the stone ground to find their own.

Marco walked deeper into the field than most of the pirates had yet reached, and the marines there hurried to flee from his way, none of them eager to test if the man would really keep to the cease of fire if given the chance to kill any marines —they knew the pirates had as much reason to want them dead as they wanted the pirates to die.

Marco didn't pay them any mind, his focus solely on the body lying closer after each step. Swords surrounded it in a sickening imitation of protection. Because they weren't protecting the body from coming to any more harm out of any kind of care, but instead so that they could later deface it further to exalt the cruelty they and the world at large saw as justice.

Reaching his destination, the area now clear from any marine presence, the blond forced himself to take in the gaping hole that ran through the man's stomach and then braced himself to walk around, to where he could see his expression.

Marco didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't what he saw. Ace was smiling. He looked… peaceful. If he had only seen the boy's face, if he hadn't already known better, Marco would have assumed he had fallen asleep due to one of his random narcolepsy attacks, or that he was simply taking a nap.

The blood covering Ace's face was mocking him.

The man knelt and carefully slipped his arms under the prone body. He bit his lips in an attempt to distract himself and hold the tears at bay, and soon he could feel the taste of blood in his mouth.

Once he was sure that Ace was secure in his arms, the blond stood up.

As soon as he turned his back to the marine side of the battlefield and began the slow walk to the pirate ships, Marco let the tears fall freely down his face.


	12. Don't

I've had this written for months, but I'd forgot I hadn't posted it. Sorry.

Beta-read (twice because I'm an idiot who loses stuff even in her own inbox) by Aerle.

* * *

**Don't**

It was raining. Why was it raining today? It hadn't rained in months.

That was the thought that crossed Izo's suddenly blank mind. And then...

"Bring a doctor!" he hollered, his order immediately repeated by the guys on watch duty who couldn't see what he was seeing.

Izo didn't wait to hear the voices of his still awake brothers carrying his command across the ship, neither did he notice lights being turned on through the small windows.

He ran to the figure sprawled on the floorboards, white shirt painted a sickly combination of red and pink hues as the blood oozed from around the knife still buried deep into the back, the liquid being drained faster than it should by the unforgiving rain.

"... Thatch..." Izo dropped to his knees, placing a trembling hand on the man's arm. He couldn't touch anywhere else for fear of worsening the wound. He couldn't turn the man around, and he couldn't pull the knife out because that would accelerate the bleeding.

Thatch gasped, and in what had to be a painfully extenuating movement, turned his head to look at Izo.

The kneeling man clenched his free hand into a fist so tight his nails drew blood from his palm. Thatch's eyes were dim, so dim Izo knew the doctors wouldn't be able do anything for him. No one could. He had seen that look too many times to mistake it for anything else.

He refused to believe it.

"W-What happened?" he asked, and his voice caught at the end of the sentence.

"Teach..." Thatch breathed out. "Wanted the fruit..."

Izo's body tensed, and he squeezed the arm under his palm.

"We'll catch him," he swore, and at that moment the only thing he wanted more than to rip that traitor to pieces was for Thatch to recover.

"... Good."

Izo heard the distant noises of feet running.

"Hold on, help's on the way."

Thatch chuckled weakly. It sounded more like a choked cough.

"...Are you... crying?"

Izo didn't know how the man could tell, as the thick rain fell down his face swallowing any tear before it could be noticed on his face, but he didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

A weaker, almost inaudible chuckle came from Thatch's lips.

"Don't... It doesn't fit y-you..."

When the first crewmembers arrived, they found Izo, his shoulders trembling, bent over Thatch's prone body, his face bloodied as he tried to hold him close and the rain no longer pouring down to erase any evidence of the night.

* * *

Review, please :D


	13. The Man on the Newspaper

After reading the latest chapter, I had to write this. There are no specific spoilers for chapter 794, but those that have read it will find another meaning to the story.

This hasn't been beta-read, so I apologize for any mistakes, I just wanted to post it right away.

* * *

**The Man on the Newspaper**

Ace smiled. It wasn't a happy expression, not by a long shot. It was more like a mix of longing and a strange twisted fondness that tugged his lips up into a sad mockery of a real smile. He couldn't help it, ever since he had first seen the man on the newspaper all that time ago, his mind had drawn a comparison, connected some common traits, and whenever he saw the man on the newspaper —and he appeared there quite frequently for someone whose job was supposed to rely on utmost secrecy— his thoughts wandered down the same path.

"You know him?"

Ace startled, and it was sheer luck that he didn't lash out on instinct. He still wasn't entirely used to being a member of the Whitebeard Pirates instead of the captain's wannabe murderer, and he tensed whenever someone approached him unexpectedly. Not that it would have mattered if he _had_ lashed out, he thought as Marco slid into the bench next to him, because Marco had already proven that Ace couldn't really hurt him.

"No," Ace answered, looking back down at the picture of the grinning man.

Marco tilted his head, watching him.

"Really? You're smiling as if you do."

Ace shook his head.

"I don't know him, it's just… he kind of reminds me of my brother."

"Luffy?" Marco asked, sounding a little dubious, and Ace had to chuckle. Of course, he had already told many members of the crew about Luffy, and the man on the newspaper really seemed nothing like Luffy.

"No. My… other brother. He died," he confessed, and he could still feel his heart clenching at the thought after so many years.

"Oh."

Marco didn't press the subject, and Ace hadn't expected him to, but for some reason he started speaking. Maybe it had simply been too long since he had talked about Sabo with anyone.

"I met him when we were kids, and we wanted to be pirates. The three of us, really, Luffy, Sabo and me. Sabo was the son of a noble, you see, and nobles in our island are really shitty people, so he wanted out. One day, he couldn't take it anymore and he decided to set sail early, but his boat was shot down by a Tenryuubito that was visiting the kingdom." Ace clenched his free hand into a fist. It had taken _years_ for Dadan to tell him the exact circumstances of Sabo's death, just _who_ had shot Sabo's boat. She didn't know which Tenryuubito had been, but the fact that it had been one of them was enough to get Ace's blood boiling whenever they were mentioned.

He looked down at the picture on the newspaper, the confident guy that was said to be the right hand man of the most wanted criminal in the world.

"Sabo wanted to be a pirate, but I could see him doing what this guy does. He knew just how corrupted the powerful could be, so going around the world freeing countries from corrupted governments… Yeah, I could see him doing something like that."

Marco rested a hand on his shoulder. It was a comforting gesture, and it helped Ace keep himself anchored to the present, to avoid being dragged into memories from so many years ago. He placed the newspaper on the table, the page with the man's picture facing down, and looked at Marco.

"You know the worst part?" Ace smiled in self-deprecation. "The papers say this guy's name is Sabo, too. Sometimes, mostly when it's dark and the world seems to stop, I almost manage to delude myself into thinking they _might_ both be the same Sabo."


	14. Oblivion

Okay, so here's my contribution to Day 1 of the Whitebeard Crew Week on tumblr. Due to personal reasons (I'm going on an unexpected vacation this week :D) I won't be posting stuff for every day, as updating from the phone is plain horrible (and I actually haven't managed to do it on AO3), but I do have a couple more things aside from this one.

Story beta-read by Aerle :)

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**Oblivion**

For many years, birthdays had been notorious events for the Whitebeard Pirates. During the first few years, they had thrown a large party for every member of the crew. Later, when they were with too many people for that to be a viable option —parties were fun, but they couldn't have a large one every single day— they had adapted: there was a massive monthly birthday party, and every day there was someone celebrating a birthday, usually with the closest people to the person. Originally, the only person whose birthday they had intended to celebrate separately had been Pops, but it hadn't taken long to decide to add the commanders' birthdays to that list.

It had been precisely today —or, more accurately, this date— what had first brought up the idea that the commanders' birthdays should be celebrated. Because, after all, Marco's birthday had always been one of the largest events in the crew. It had been the first one they had ever celebrated, back when they didn't even amount to half a dozen rookies following a crazy dream, and it had, over the years, turned into a competition of seeing who could irritate Marco the most without dying during the attempt.

Not this year.

Marco's birthday wasn't the first one since things had gone wrong —it had been over three months since Thatch's death, almost two since the war— but Jozu thought today was the gloomiest day they had lived through since that first week after the war. Then again, it could just be the contrast with last year.

Last year, there had been booze and chicken-shaped cookies flowing; last year Ace had fallen asleep on the birthday cake while trying to steal a bit of it before Thatch gave anyone permission to eat it; last year, by this point Jozu was tired because Izo had enlisted him to help clear a larger room for Marco to work on his maps and keep them more comfortably, because the old one had been overflowing with them —now that room and all of Marco's maps and logs were gone— and they had spent a week sneaking around to get the job done without Marco noticing; last year, they had been a happy family getting roaringly drunk, and then cursing Marco the next morning because he, who couldn't get drunk and much less hungover, found some sort of perverse pleasure in waking them up early and speaking loudly, and not even Pops' threats could dissuade him.

This year... this year, Marco had marched into the mess hall, taken an entire crate of bottles of beer —they had stopped buying stronger stuff after a few people tried to drink themselves to death— and growled at them that he would beat the shit out of anyone who disturbed him. Then he had disappeared into his room.

It was early evening already, and nobody had seen him.

Jozu had been working as the unofficial first mate these past few months —Marco refused to be called 'captain', so officially, he was still the first mate— and had been keeping an eye on things. Until a few minutes ago, when he had asked Vista to take over.

Now Jozu was standing before Marco's door with a plate of sandwiches in one hand. Marco may say that he didn't need to eat due to his powers whenever someone asked, but Jozu didn't give a fuck that it was true: he was sick of watching him just toying with his food and barely eat anything.

Marco might be able to appear calm and fool almost everybody into thinking that he was alright, but Jozu knew him too well. He could read even that bored mask of his.

He knocked.

There was no answer. Nor was there one the second time.

Jozu decided to go in anyway. If Marco was asleep, he would just leave the plate on the nightstand and let him be, but it was just as likely that Marco was simply ignoring him.

Jozu pushed the door open. They didn't have locks, they were useless on a ship where most people could pick or just break them.

"Marco?" he asked as the door opened.

The room was darkened, but there was enough light for him to see inside. Marco was on the floor, lying on his side with his back to the door and a half-empty bottle of beer by his head. The floor was littered in empty bottles, and there wasn't a single full one in sight. Weak beer or not, anyone else would be unconscious by now. Or in a coma.

"Marco?" Jozu called him again, stepping fully inside. He closed the door. Marco's shoulder twitched. "What are you doing?"

"N'thin'."

The shock was so great that Jozu almost dropped the plate. He barely remembered to leave it on the desk before hurrying to get before Marco.

"What are you...?" He trailed off when he saw the metal cuff clasped around Marco's wrist, the index finger of his other hand absently tracing it. "What have you _done_?"

Jozu dropped to his knees before him and reached for the cuffed hand. Marco didn't move. A brush of the metal was enough for his strength to weaken.

"Couldn' get drunk," Marco said softly. "I want'd t' forget."

Jozu's stomach fell. He remembered all the times he, or anyone else for that matter, had gotten drunk for that same reason. Marco hadn't, not even once. He had always been there. Steady.

"It doesn' work," Marco whispered, and looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks damp, and for a moment Jozu saw the kid who had been forced to grow up too soon and too fast that he had first met so many years ago.

"No, it doesn't," Jozu agreed. He reached for Marco and helped him sit up. He glanced around for the keys, but stopped himself.

Marco had done this, conscious of the effects it would have. He had wanted to get away, even if only for a short while, and Jozu wasn't going to take that away, no matter how little it had worked.

Instead, he drew Marco closer and embraced him. Marco clung to his shirt.

"I miss them," Marco confessed. Jozu realized that, though he had already known, this was the first time he heard Marco say it out loud.

"Me too."

Jozu had held Marco like this once before, back when Marco had been little more than a kid and had had a nightmare Jozu had suspected to be a memory. The next morning Marco had pretended nothing had happened, and Jozu had let him.

"I don' want t' be a capt'n."

Jozu wasn't going to let him pretend this time.


End file.
